


After The Elevator

by Mx_Dragon



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Anal Play, Gun Kink, Gun penetration, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Dragon/pseuds/Mx_Dragon
Summary: This definitely isn't neighborly.(Originally published July 23, 2012 under the name screamer1234 on the Silent Hill Kink Meme.)
Relationships: Richard Braintree/Henry Townshend
Kudos: 6





	After The Elevator

The man who lived in 207 was, undoubtedly, a complete bastard.

Henry wasn’t the smartest guy, but he’d learned that quickly—if Richard Braintree wasn’t in his room, he was loudly expressing his dissatisfaction with his neighbors and with the vast, unforgiving cosmos in general. Sure, there was a grumpy jerk in every apartment building, but unlike most grumpy jerks, more tended to follow his hair-trigger temper than noisy complaints. People quickly learned to keep their kids and pets away from him; they’d already told him about a certain pseudo-stalker who’d met a violent fate at Braintree’s hands. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the psychotic asshole _wouldn’t stop staring at him_.

That last detail was especially pertinent now.

Henry had just barely stepped into the lobby and hey, what do you know? Right there. Fuck. And it looked like they were both heading for the elevator. Double fuck. He’d just come back from a long-delayed grocery store visit, though, and with everything he was carrying, he really didn’t want to take the stairs. So he just gritted his teeth and got into the elevator, a carefully measured pace behind the most batshit man he’d ever personally met.

So now Richard was standing behind him, smoking a cigarette and staring at the back of his head so hard he’d swear he could feel it heating up. Well, either that or Richard had actually set his hair on fire with his lighter.

The elevator juddered and there was a muffled shriek of tortured metal. Henry swore under his breath; of course this ancient pile of crap would choose _now_ to get stuck. As usual, the universe was conspiring against him.

Still staring. For Christ’s sake, what the hell was this guy’s problem? Henry darted a glance back at him. What’d he…ever…

His eyes widened. _Is he checking out my ass?_

He quickly faced front again. _Yes. Yes, he is._

And he didn’t have to look again. Because he could feel it.

Henry squirmed—Jesus, his gaze was moving, he could _feel_ Richard’s eyes dragging over his body. God, this was so degrading. This was uncomfortable as hell. This was sexual harassment! This was…really, _really_ arousing…

_I did not just think that. Please, God, tell me I did not just think that._

He tried to block it out, tried to not be so aware of Richard’s eyes, but that was getting pretty damned hard with the way they raised sweat and goosebumps on his skin wherever they fell. He bit back a small noise of mixed protest and arousal when they lingered on his ass again like a lecherous hand. Richard wasn’t even touching him. How could he be so affected?

He barely noticed when the elevator shrieked again and ground back into motion, finally reaching the third floor. The doors opened. Henry didn’t move.

Richard finally spoke: “Isn’t this your floor?” He took a long pull on his cigarette and released a rumbling, gravelly sigh that was way too close to a moan.

Henry abruptly put down his groceries, spun around to seize Richard’s upper arms, and kissed him square on the mouth. Richard didn’t seem to be at all startled.

Henry shoved him against the back of the elevator and pressed him there with the entire length of his body, mouth violent in a way that the older man could only return with effort. Richard’s hands wandered as best they could over his sides, his stomach, his hips—God damn, Henry had gone completely wild and that was just making it so much worse. It made no sense. He didn’t even _like_ this guy. But something told him that right then, even if the logic had been perfect, he wouldn’t have been able to understand it.

The elevator dinged. Henry hurriedly pulled himself off Richard—off _Richard_ , for God’s sake—a split second before the doors opened on a completely unfamiliar yuppie. Judging from the guy’s face, Henry didn’t look his best. In fact, he probably looked like he’d been doing exactly what he’d been doing, and maybe a little more than that.

He was torn between committing suicide and shoving Richard back against the wall again when the second option leaned past him and nonchalantly pressed the “Close” button. The doors obliged.

And before he could turn around, cold metal jabbed hard into the small of his back. Richard growled, “We’re going to my room. _Now_.”

Henry should have been terrified. He should have tried to run away or kick Richard’s ass or defuse the situation with calm diplomacy. He should have done a lot of things. Instead he took a long, shaky breath and pressed the button for the second floor.

Luckily, nobody was in that second-floor corridor to see Richard escorting Henry into his room at gunpoint. Even luckier, nobody was there to see the flush on Henry’s face, or how much faster he was walking than necessary.

They barely made it to the bed before their mouths locked in a starving kiss and Henry was on his back, legs crossed around Richard’s hips, squirming out of his clothes and into the spit-slick fingers already moving up his thigh. His toes curled as those fingers slipped in and crooked, almost teasing, and he whined aloud when they were seamlessly replaced with something _much_ bigger.

But it was not the something he’d expected. Holster-warm metal slid over the ecstatic rough spot inside him, brushed his balls, and his eyes were bleary with arousal as he sought Richard’s face. “Wh…what are you…?” he half-asked, half-begged, but his voice dissolved into a shapeless cry as Richard thrust the revolver into him up to the trigger guard. He drew it out again, slowly, until Henry thrashed and called with need, then thrust it back with a noise of feral satisfaction.

“That’s right, Henry—shut up and take it like a good boy!” he rasped. Henry shuddered and undulated desperately; yes, he wanted to, wanted to take it all the way, be a good boy, perfect boy, the kind who’d never drop his groceries in the elevator to devour a stranger’s mouth, who’d never scream like a slut at being gun-fucked by the man he hated more than anyone he’d ever met. The sheer, senseless debauchery of it ran molten lead through Henry’s brain. The depraved ache in his veins grew unbearable until Richard grasped him with his other hand and stroked hard and then Henry really did scream because he was coming all over his stomach, body arched, until he fell back so limp and still so fantastically warm.

With an effort, Henry propped himself up on his elbows. He was aware that he was shaking. _Jesus. How could I…he could’ve killed me. He could’ve killed me, could’ve pulled the trigger, easy as breathing!_ His thoughts dawned and ran in a litany of terror, but when he opened his mouth, what he said was, “Don’t you…don’t you want…”

Richard withdrew the revolver with an abruptness that left Henry gasping and tossed it on the bed beside him. “Want what? To fuck you?” He barked with laughter. “Get dressed and get out of here.”

Henry opened his mouth in bewildered anger, but Richard’s eyes narrowed so dangerously that he immediately obeyed. He slid cautiously off the bed, aware that Richard watched him keenly while he pulled on his clothes. Richard escorted him to the apartment door, and as Henry turned to demand an explanation, his face darkened into an expression of pure lechery.

“I’ll see you around…Townshend,” he purred.

The door slammed shut, leaving Henry weak-kneed and baffled and even more nonsensically eager than before.

He had a bad feeling about this.


End file.
